


There are limits (even if you want to live without them)

by Anonymous



Category: Limitless (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Brian's a little. Nobody knows this, not even his dad.Which is really saying something because his dad thinks he knows everything and that Brian's a super honest person and he'd like for that to be true but with his dad's job and...Well, anyway. Brian's a little. A hidden little. And there's no way he's getting out of this one alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you could still be what you want to be (what you said you were when you met me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269181) by [ikindaneedahero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikindaneedahero/pseuds/ikindaneedahero). 



Brian floated in that space between sleep and wakefulness. He was wrapped in music, and the warmth of it seeped into his bones. He shifted and blinked himself into consciousness. There was sleep gunk clogging his sight. If he could only untangle his arm from the…

Brian froze. He shifted his hips again, testing an unwanted theory. Yup. That’s – yup.

 _Dammit_.

Brian slammed his eyes shut. Maybe, if he ignored reality long enough, it would take the initiative and fuck the friggedy frack off?

…Yeah. He’d been trying that technique for 28 years, and still no dice.

He took a breath, attempting to steel himself, and finally freed his hand from the blanket, grappling around on the coffee table until he found his phone.

3:27.

 _Jesus Christ_. He’d only been asleep for two and a bit hours, and _this_ had happened. _Again_.

And he hadn’t felt a thing.

Brian felt his thoughts start to fuzz over, and he dug his fingernails into his wrist, shoving the sensation to the back of his mind.

Okay. He needed to stay functional long enough to get himself cleaned up.

That was doable.

Brian counted down from three, and then rolled himself off his couch and onto the carpet.

Landing on the ground knocked the breath out of him, but, with the way his coordination had been operating lately, chucking himself in a general direction seemed to be the best way to get moving.

Brian pushed himself to his feet, gripping the coffee table. He took a stumbling step forward, willing his legs to stop shaking.

This had been happening more and more over the past few months. Just a week ago, he’d finished his set at the pub, and his hands had started shuddering too violently to grip his guitar. Jason had pressed his last pay-check into his palm, eyebrow raised, and told Brian he couldn’t play there anymore “until you pull yourself together, man.”

So that was that. Jobless. Again.

Taking a few more steps forward, Brian got a tentative grip on the wall and headed for the bathroom.

Once inside he fell against the door, sliding the lock into place as quickly as his hands would allow.

Not that anyone ever visited. But it didn’t hurt to be cautious? When this blew up it was going to be a disaster, and Brian was inclined to keep the ruse going as long as possible.

Never let it be said that Brian Finch didn't go down swinging.

Gritting his teeth, Brian stumbled forward a few more steps, wrenched the shower curtain open, and turned the hot water to full blast. 

His water bills came straight out of his bank account, but he figured he had enough money to last at least another week.

He hoped he did, anyway.

While waiting for the water to heat up, Brian sat down on the toilet seat, bracing himself for the next task.

He gripped the hem of his t-shirt, then pulled it off, chucking it into the corner to join four other t-shirts from the previous week.

His track pants were soon to follow, but Brian’s throw was off, and they ended up hanging from the door handle instead.

Ah well. Close enough.

Scrubbing a shaking fist over his face, Brian finally turned his attention to the task at hand.

He’d bought his first package of diapers a year and a half ago, when pull-ups were no longer getting him through a night. He’d only caved after he’d run out of sheets and had spent a week lying on towels and a bare mattress.

When all was said and done, he’d had to get rid of the mattress too. He’d considered selling it to some kinky p-dom on the Quench, but the idea had made his stomach flip, so he had settled with lugging the thing over his shoulder and dumping it in the yard of an apartment block three streets over.

Heh, and his dad still thought he was an honest person.

If forced to examine it, Brian would probably say he’d lost bladder control at the start of this year. It was humiliating as hell, but so far, he'd been managing it.

Losing control of his bowels, however? That took humiliation right out of the stratosphere.

Not that he’d lost control yet, or anything. This had only happened four times. Well, five now. And only ever when he’d been sleeping.

Refusing to think about it anymore, Brian ripped the tabs on either side of the material and used the back of the toilet to push himself to his feet. Leaving the _thing_ on the seat, Brian walked himself back over to the shower, and slid under the steaming water, tugging the curtain closed behind him.

The water thrummed against his scalp, washing away the furrow in his brow, but bringing Brian back to the brink of regression, a place that Brian couldn’t afford to go until some basic hygiene was taken care of. 

Only giving himself a second to think, Brain flicked the shower to cold, swearing up a storm as the temperature hauled his brain into gear.

He grabbed the soap bar, lathering it up and washing himself down as quickly as possible, repeating the process until the water ran clear.

Only then, once he had scrubbed his hands raw, did he allow himself to twist the shower back to lukewarm.

Then, having completed all shower-related activities, Brian slid down the shower wall, curled his hands around his knees, and let the water rush over him.

He turned his face up into heat, refusing to give in to the pressure mounting behind his eyes.

He didn’t care what biology said. He was an adult. A functioning adult. He had an apartment. He often had a job. He hadn’t died of starvation, and he was yet to be locked up for avoiding taxes. There. Functioning adult.

Brian’s bladder chose that moment to empty itself, indifferent to the little above it trying desperately not to cry.

Brian felt a wave of heat wash over his face, and he tucked his head into his knees, willing it to be over.

 _It’s not fair_ , a small voice whined, and Brian bit his lip against the sob that shuddered out of him.

But it was followed by a second sob. And a third.

Brian felt his eyes widen, and he shoved the heel of his hand against his mouth.

If this started, there was no way it would finish. Not for a long while.

But it was too late.

The sobs kept coming, ripping their way from Brian’s chest, as hard as he tried to keep himself quiet.

He curled into the wall, wrapping his arms around himself in a facsimile of a hug, and waited for the wave to pass.

He felt his vision fuzz over, and he gave the sensation a shove, but it was half-hearted at best.

He just wanted someone to help him, that’s all. Was that so much to ask? Someone to open the door, sling an arm around his shoulder, and tell him he was doing alright. That he wasn’t a disappointment.

Another sob beat out, tearing at Brian’s throat. He slipped his thumb into his mouth, rocking himself against the surges of pain.

He couldn’t go on like this, he knew that much. His body was falling apart, along with any brain power he may once have had.

Something was gonna break.

And it was gonna break soon.


	2. Chapter 2

When Eli offered to get lunch, Brian wasn’t entirely sure why he agreed.

Well, he was hungry. And also broke. So, there’s a couple reasons for agreeance right there.

But there was more to it, stuff he didn’t really want to think about.

Like the fact that Eli was a dom. Not a p-dom, mind you, just a general one. But still…

And it was good to see his friend, even if the reminder of his own failure staring him straight in the face was a little tough to stomach.

Eli picked the place. It was pretty posh, and Brian felt out of sorts in his blue fuzzy hoodie. He’d tugged his jacket on over the top, to try to formal the whole thing up a bit, but it fell short of the other patron’s suits and ties. He wished he could pull the hood up and hide away inside.

But this was adult Brian, remember? Adult, gad Brian, who was capable of sitting through an entire fancy meal without imploding.

The menu had a small section at the back for both kids and l-subs. Brian felt his heart hammer a little harder as his eyes skimmed over it.

Was he looking at it too long? He was looking at it too long. Eli would know-

“So, how’s the new band going?” his old friend asked, snapping Brian out of his spiral.

“Uh, okay,” Brian replied, clearing his throat and doing his best to maintain eye contact with the figure across the table, “I wouldn’t call it a band, exactly. It’s more of a solo project? I’ll hit you up when the album's released.”

“It’s so awesome that you’re still making music, man!” came Eli’s enthused response. There was a genuine grin on his face, and it sent cracks through the man’s ‘rich, successful, upper class dom’ facade, letting Brian glimpse the laid back guy he used to know.

And, Brian knew Eli wasn’t his dom. Knew the man saw him as an equal despite the drastically different paths their lives have taken, but he didn’t want to feel like Eli was proud of him when he hadn’t accomplished anything to deserve that pride.

And, more than anything, he didn’t want to have to spout out another lie.

“Eli,” he started, keeping his voice as steady as possible, “I not making new music. I haven’t written any songs in - in - “ he struggled to find the timeframe, but it slipped away from him “ - in a while.”

“Why not?” came Eli’s response, and Brian couldn’t stop himself flinching away from the genuine concern in the dom’s voice.

 _I can’t concentrate_ , he wanted to say, _I can’t think anymore. Every day I’m coming closer and closer to the limit of what I can handle. I can’t even hold down a temp job for one day without falling asleep at the desk_.

But all that came too close to the truth.

“My dad’s sick,” he settled on, “they don’t know what’s wrong with him. And - and - “ _don’t cry don’t cry come on don’t do that shit_ , “ - and if he doesn’t get better - he’s gonna die.”

He fought the tears, as forcefully as he could. It was always an easier exercise in public. He didn’t let himself look at Eli’s face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle that right now.

There was silence for a little while, interceded with the murmurings of the other restaurateurs. It was enough time for Brian to get himself back under control, but he still kept his eyes glued to the tablecloth, gripping his hands tight to each other in his lap.

“I think I could help you, man,” came Eli’s voice, and Brian finally managed to look up at him. He hoped against hope that he didn’t looked as wrecked as he felt.

Or at least that he only looked wrecked enough to still pass as a gad.

He watched as Eli reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a wad of cash. Brian’s stomach flipped at the sight. God, that would be enough to cover his rent for at least a couple more weeks.

But Eli didn’t stop there. He opened a small, silver box with his right hand. Brian caught the initials E.W. glinting in the sunlight.

Then, with a smirk, Eli pulled out a round, transparent pill, about the size of the ecstasy pills Brian had seen around the place during his short time at college.

He felt his eyes widen, and immediately started to shake his head.

Pot was one thing, but this? This looked way harder.

“Take it,” Eli said, grin still firmly in place, and Brian decided to humour him, just for the moment.

“What’s in it?” he asked, trying to bring some of his old joviality to his tone, “is it speed? Or coke?”

“Oh, nah, nothing that basic. Have you heard of modafinil?”

“No,” Brian muttered, truthfully.

“What about neuroenhancers?”

Brian hadn’t heard of any specific substances under that name, but he understood the concept.

He nodded.

He couldn’t deny his sudden interest. If he could enhance his cognition, maybe he could - 

“Just take it,” Eli murmured, and the offer sounded a little too enticing.

Well, he could just take it and not use it…

Who was he kidding. If not a complete solution, some kind of neuroenhancer might at least help his, well, ‘little’ problem.

Brian hesitated, but only for a few seconds longer. Then he unclasped his hands, and snaked one over the tablecloth, folding the pill into his subtly shaking palm.

Eli smiled at him, and the little in Brian couldn’t help but purr at the minute praise.

Brian told it firmly to shut up.

The meal proceeded fairly quickly from there. Brian tried to focus as Eli filled him in on his life, his job, the cute sub he was currently dating, but most of his attention was caught on the little transparent circle hidden in his palm and crushed into his jean pocket.

Eli did foot the bill, thank god, and then they left the restaurant together.

Eli went in for a hug. Brian reciprocated the best he could, trying to keep himself held rigid to avoid melting into the contact.

“See you around, man!” Eli affirmed, face once again fixed into that knowing grin, and with a wink, he was off, around the corner and folded into the crowds of people.

Brian stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, before pulling his hand from his pocket.

He held the pill up to the light, squinting to examine it, but it didn’t give him any answers.

Well, it’s not like Eli would try to kill him, right? And besides, he was probably going to lose the new temp job in the next few days, regardless of what he did.

Leaning heavily on his l-sub impulsivity, Brian tilted his head back, placed the pill on his tongue.

And swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need Jesus. Send help. Also, why aren't there more fics in the fandom? I mean, come on?! The show is pretty spectacular, honestly.


	3. Chapter 3

Rebecca’s day had started quite normally, all things considered. One might think ‘normal days’ were hard to come by in the FBI, but no. There were countless paperwork days to break up the more adventurous moments on the job.

But anyway. Her day had started normally, and it had seemed to continue one quite normally. And then there was a murdered man, a chase, and there she was staring a guy down through the sights of her pistol.

Normal had, quite literally, thrown itself onto the train tracks and disappeared from sight.

“He got away from six of our agents,” she found herself saying to Naz, fighting to keep the incredulity out of her voice, “and his profile is all over the place.”

“Can you expand on the ‘all over the place’ bit, Agent Harris?” came Naz’s droll tone. Her right eyebrow was raised rather impressively, and it conflicted with the blank expression taking over the rest of her face.

“He’s had a lengthy list of part-time jobs since dropping out of college, and on every employment document he’s listed himself as a gad, but his official files show he has a government issued Quench account.”

“Well, have you found evidence of his actual classification anywhere? Has he got a clandestine sub stored away in his apartment?”

That got a snort from Boyle, and Rebecca found herself glancing over at him. His eyes were fixed on Naz, but Rebecca knew the look on his face.

It was exactly the way he looked when he was teasing a confession from a doomed suspect. The look that said _I know something you don’t_.

She turned her attention back to Naz, questions bubbling out of her.

“Why did you want us to bring Eli Whitford in for questioning? What were you looking for in his apartment?”

It was Naz’s turn to share a look with Boyle. Rebecca quelled the urge to clench her fists at the way they kept looking over her head, like she wasn’t quite there.

It was difficult being an l-sub in law enforcement. There wasn’t a law against them being employed, but it was general public consensus in the US that l-subs should take on simpler, less violent roles in the workforce.

Rebecca was fairly lucky in that regard. She was borderline, had just made the l-sub category, and rarely regressed younger than around 12.

However, she was used to this kind of reaction from her fellow agents, the widening eyes when they saw the classification printed on her lanyard, the way others would often try to talk around her, or simplify their language when addressing her directly.

“What information haven’t you given me yet?” she asked, knowing her tone was a little too sharp for a professional setting, but feeling too insulted to care.

It put her at an unfair advantage when information was kept from her, and the way Naz and Boyle kept swapping glances annoyed her to no end.

Naz sighed, then got up from her chair, strode over to her encrypted filing cabinet, and took out a thin, manila folder.

She handed it to Rebecca, her lips pursed as she watched Rebecca settle back into her seat.

As Rebecca started to read, she heard Naz give her own explanation, but her heart was thrumming in her ears, and she barely processed a word her boss uttered.

This. This would explain so much about her dad.

As Naz kept talking, detailing the joint CIA and FBI experiments on NZT, Rebecca flipped through the pictures of the participants.

 _God_ , she found herself thinking, _that emaciated, after only a year_.

“There are some important eyes looking at this,” came Naz voice, filtering through Rebecca’s distraction, “You’ll have access to all the resources you need. I want you to find this Brian Finch. I’ll get you a warrant to check his Quench account, so you know what kind of animal you’re dealing with. It should be on your desks within the hour.”

That was a dismissal if Rebecca had ever heard one. With a nod to her boss, Rebecca marched out, Boyle following close on her heels.

“I only got the information about NZT this morning.” her partner said, and, surprisingly, that did make Rebecca feel better. With the shitshow that had blown up at them both today, it made sense that Boyle hadn’t yet found the time to brief her. “It’s a lot to process, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rebecca replied, nodding, but her mind was already distancing itself from the conversation.

They needed to find as much information on Finch as possible, and quickly.

“I’ll get his social profile, you get more of his history” she shot to Boyle as they both got to their desks.

She heard a hum of assent from Boyle, and then she booted up her computer and began the process of profiling their mystery guy.

\---

Just under an hour later, Finch’s Quench file was placed on the divide between their desks.

Rebecca was in the process of piecing together information about Finch’s sister, so she waved it off in Boyle's direction.

From what she’d seen of the suspect, he was probably borderline too, only slightly sub or dom, and so he had simply decided to list 'gad' on his employment forms rather than carry his classification with him.

Which she could understand. Of course, it was still illegal, but a penalty for minor identity fraud didn’t seem too worrying in comparison to the felony case Finch was currently wrapped up in.

However, this assumption was quickly shattered.

She heard Boyle gasp, and her head shot up at the uncharacteristic sound.

Boyle looked pale, and there was a subtle layer of horror draped across his features.

“What is it?” Rebecca enquired, rounding the desk to check the file out for herself.

She barely stopped herself stumbling, hand jutting forward to stabilise herself against Boyle’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” she heard her partner whisper, and she couldn’t help but agree.

Under classification, next to a picture of 18-year-old Finch, were the neatly penned words.

**L-sub**

**Estimated age of regression: 0-5 years of age.**

Rebecca, despite reading the line over a dozen times, was struggling to process what it meant.

The man she had chased after, the one she had nearly shot at, couldn’t be more than 5 years old.

She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her.

The poor kid. How did he get mixed up in all of this?

“Did you find _anything_ about this?” she heard Boyle ask, voice hoarse.

“No, nothing at all,” was her nearly whispered reply, “and there’s absolutely no evidence of a p-dom in his life.”

“He lives alone?” Boyle questioned, voice far higher pitched than it should be, “and he’s looking after himself?”

Rebecca could only nod, eyes still locked on those last few words.

**0-5 years of age.**

Six of their agents had chased him down. 

She’d pointed a gun in his face.

He must have been terrified.

“I’ll go talk to Brian’s family,” she finally managed. “You go update Naz.”

Boyle let out a breath, running a hand over his head, but then he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, right. That’s a good idea. Regroup in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Uhuh.”

They shared a final shell-shocked glance, before splitting.

Rebecca took a few breaths as she made her way to the elevator, then she pushed the new and sudden knowledge out of the forefront of her mind.

But she couldn’t get rid of the anxiety starting to stutter through her veins.

They had to find Brian and help him get out of this, before something bad - no - something worse - happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed some things. Boyle knew about NZT before Rebecca, for no particular reason, and the dialogue isn't quite taken word for word from the show, but definitely isn't original.
> 
> Honestly, I dunno what I'm doing. This is the first time I've attempted a multi-chapter fic in my life, and I have no idea what's happening.
> 
> I can't believe people want to read this, what the hell?
> 
> Anyway, love to you all, and adios (for now).


	4. Chapter 4

It was the sound of one of her floorboards creaking that broke Rebecca out of her trance. She whipped her head to the bedroom doorway, away from the map plastered with Brian’s face.

She padded through the doorway, making for the drawer that housed her gun.

But before she could get to it, the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she whirled around.

There, leaning on the door-frame to the bathroom, was Brian.

His eyes held that same glint she had seen on the subway platform.

He was definitely using.

Her hand flinched towards her bedside table, but the drawer lay open and empty. 

Her pistol was clasped in Brian’s left hand.

“I got it already,” he conveyed. The corner of his lip was pulled into a rueful smile, but, as he gestured with Rebecca’s gun, she couldn’t stop her heart hammering.

She could deal with this sort of thing, was trained for these exact moments.

But not in her own home, the place her mind had designated as safe territory.

She felt tears spring to her eyes, and shoved them away with a muttered curse.

Which, of course, the hopped-up l-sub standing in front of her noticed.

His eyes flickered to the coral patterning on her curtains, the three stuffed toys she had resting at the head of her bed.

Then, in a smooth motion, he released the magazine from the pistol, catching it in his free hand before it could fall too far. He shoved it into his pocket, dropped the gun onto her carpet, and took a step back, hands raised in front of him.

“I just want to talk,” he murmured, eyes locked on Rebecca’s own, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

It helped, a lot, though Rebecca was loathe to admit it.

He was an l-sub too, and a far younger one at that. He shouldn’t be the one having to calm her down.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, clasping her hands in the hem of her sweatshirt.

At this, Brian looked down, and even through the high he was riding, Rebecca caught the grief crossing his expression.

“I can’t tell you who killed Eli yet,” he said, voice hoarse, “but I can tell you other stuff. You work with the FBI. You can solve this more effectively than I could.”

“Was Eli your dom?” Rebecca found herself asking.

Brian startled visibly, swaying momentarily where he stood, before getting himself back under control.

“I figured you guys would know by now,” he replied, before his eyes snapped back to Rebecca’s, “No, he was just a friend. A good friend. He didn’t know about-”

Brian didn’t look like he could get to the end of that sentence.

“About your classification,” Rebecca finished for him, and she watched as a breath rushed from Brian’s chest.

Even with superhuman intelligence sparking in his eyes, the man - or, the kid really - looked tired.

“Oh, honey,” she couldn’t quite stop herself saying.

Brian took an involuntary step back. He shook his head.

“Can we sit down?” he asked, and his voice was just as calculating as it had been a minute earlier, but it didn’t scare Rebecca anymore.

It sounded young, a little lost, even with all the intellect behind it.

She nodded.

Watching each other closely, they maneuvered their way through to Rebecca’s living room, and took seats facing each other across the coffee table.

“There’s another guy at the bank using NZT,” Brian started, eyes boring into Rebecca’s own. “His name is Jay Winston. But he’s dead. You’ll find him in an apartment is SoHo. Someone killed him so they could take his stash."

“How do I know you didn’t kill him?” Rebecca challenged, but there was no real heat to it.

She’d seen a lot of messed up things, first during her time as a cop, and then with the Bureau. She’d even seen l-subs committing violent crimes, be it because they were forced to, or because they were just really messed up people.

But it only took looking at Brian for a few minutes to know that his dad was right.

This guy wasn’t a murderer.

“Why would I come and give you this information if I was the culprit?” came Brian’s swift response, and Rebecca nodded in assent.

“Someone’s killing NZT users,” Brian continued on. “I’ve got Jay Winston’s laptop here. He’s had a bunch of conversations with a gad called ‘Hapaboy.’ I think Hapaboy used to work with Jay, but now he’s working at one of the other banks. He knows Jay’s using something, and he wants to buy in. You could find good information from him.”

“There’s lots of holes in your story, Brian,” Rebecca tried, carefully. “How do I know you’re not just leading me down the wrong path so you can find time to get more NZT?”

“Why didn’t you shoot me on the platform?” Brian asked, and the non-sequitur threw any conversational control Rebecca had managed to gain. “You had a clear shot. Why didn’t you take it-?”

Brian trailed off, his eyes flicking around the room. Rebecca watched as his gaze ran over her bookshelf, across the various photo frames.

“Oh,” he uttered, after barely thirty seconds of silence. “I’m really sorry about your dad.”

Rebecca felt like she had been punched in the chest.

“How did you-?”

“The books,” he cut her off, “a lot of your adult ones are about drug addiction. And you don’t have any recent pictures of your dad.”

Rebecca knew she should say something, should go back to trying to convince Brian to come in, but when she reached for the words, all she found was static.

Brian huffed out a breath, and then reached into his pocket, pulling out her magazine.

“Here,” he offered, sliding it across the table, “I’ll leave, okay? I’ve still got some more stuff to figure out.”

Rebecca watched as he got up and started to make his way across the room.

He stopped in front of the map she had up, the one she’d been working on before her evening went to hell.

“How’s my dad?” He asked, back to her.

She’d got back from visiting his parents a few hours ago. She didn’t ask how he knew.

She cleared her throat.

“He, uh, he looks really sick.”

Brian’s shoulders slumped.

“Did you tell him?” he asked, and there was the vulnerability she'd expected from someone with such a young regression age.

Maybe the NZT was starting to wear off?

“I told him about Eli’s murder, and I told him that you were the prime suspect, but I didn’t tell him about your classification. It’s against the law to release that kind of information without the individual’s consent.”

They both knew that that law wouldn’t have stopped most agents, though.

Brian made for the door, and Rebecca made no move to stop him.

As he reached the threshold, he turned back, and caught her eye once again.

“Thank-you,” he said.

And then he was gone.

It was a while before Rebecca could move from her seat, and it took even longer for her to fall asleep.

She had a lot more work to do come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. I don't think I've ever written this much in such a short time-span. What is happening?
> 
> Updates like this aren't gonna be the norm, I swear. (Updates?? I write one shots!! What is happening!?)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. And thank you all so so much for the comments. I don't know what to do with myself, honestly. You all rock.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian had barely managed to keep it together on the first come down.

The second one though?

To call it soul-crushingly horrible would be a vast understatement.

High-Brian had managed to find a closed hotel, and one with running water at that. Breaking in had been touch and go, but with the last dregs of NZT running through his system, Brian had managed to disable the security on the second floor, and find a bathroom kitted out well enough.

He was shaking so violently that it was a challenge to get the bathroom door closed behind him, and then, before he could even take his borrowed (stolen) coat off, he was vomiting into the toilet, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the bowl.

After a few minutes the nausea waned, and Brian managed to slap a hand down on the flusher. He fell back against the opposite wall, resting the back of his head against the cool tiles.

He couldn’t even berate himself for the tears tracking their way down his cheeks. At least he wasn’t crying too loudly.

Yet, anyway.

Brian liked to consider himself an optimist. Sure, the title had taken a knock in the last few years, but generally he tried to find the most positive outcome for any situation he stumbled into.

However, he didn’t think he was going to get through this one without regressing.

With weak and twitching limbs, and with a couple of breaks to gather himself, Brian managed to shrug the coat from his shoulders.

He left it in a heap in the corner, and then, with a hand on each of the walls, he got himself shakily to his feet.

He wiped his tear-streaked face on his shoulder, and then blinked a few times to clear his vision.

He took one stumbling step towards the bathtub, and came crashing down to the floor.

Pain blasted through him, first from his knee, and then his palms as they slammed into the tiles.

Usually pain helped ground Brian, especially when he was between headspaces, but today it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The air whooshed out of Brian’s lungs, but was immediately sucked back in as he started to cry in earnest.

The sound echoed around the empty space.

He couldn’t hold himself up under the force of the sobs.

His left arm gave out first, and then he was laying on his side.

He curled his knees up closer to his chest, and wrapped his arms around himself. He’d bitten his lip, hard enough to bleed, but there was nothing he could do.

He wanted, wanted so forcefully that it ached from his throat down to his stomach.

He wanted a blanket. Wanted the dumb stuffed rabbit he’d carted around when he was a kid.

He wanted someone to run a hand through his hair, and brush the sweat-soaked strands from his forehead. He wanted someone to hum a song, any song, it didn’t matter. He wanted someone to gather him up in their arms and hold him until he’d sobbed himself dry.

He felt his bladder give a pang of warning, and then, before he could think to do anything, he was wetting himself.

This was the only pair of jeans he had with him. He hadn’t needed to wear a pull-up when he was on NZT.

A more painful sob shuddered through his chest, and then the nausea washed over him once again.

He was closer to the bath than the toilet, and he managed to pull himself over the lip before he was throwing up once again.

When that wave passed, he just managed to lower himself down to the floor.

He stared up at the ceiling, tears still streaming down his face faster than he could understand.

He stuck his hand in his mouth, and did his best to just turn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. I was totally planning on a chapter double this size. Had it all written out in my head and everything, but then life happened.
> 
> So, I figured I may as well post what I managed so far! 
> 
> Be warned, I'm posting this from my phone, so it's probably gonna have way more mistakes than my stuff usually does :). Sorry bout that fam. Can't get to my computer right now. Good thing I write in Google docs!!.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey to Adam Honeycutt’s apartment was tough.

When Brian woke up, his stomach was still rolling, and he was shakier than he would like, but he was a little more with it. He ignored the hollowness in his chest, and got himself to his feet.

He washed his clothes as best he could in the shower, using up the room’s supply of soap. It was fine. They’d replace it when they reopened. He couldn’t do much about the state of the rest of the bathroom, though.

Actually, he didn’t want to think about it.

Twisting the last of the water out of his jeans, Brian pulled them on, wincing as they stuck to his skin.

Then he left, making his way slowly out of the room and down the fire escape. The idea of facing the world again, in this state, set his hands shaking. But at least he could breathe better out here than he could in that room. He set his shoulder to the exit door, and it came open with a shriek of the hinges.

High-Brian had plotted out a route to Adam’s house, which sober-Brian had somehow managed to remember.

Well, seeing as he only needed to catch one bus and get off after three stops, it would actually be rather worrying if he forgot it.

He just had enough cash left to pay the ticket. He handed it to the driver.

There was no way to miss the driver’s upturned nose. She looked him over, and for a moment Brian thought she was going to deny him transport, but, with a sniff, she took the money, and gestured him on.

Brian stood for the whole journey, one hand wrapped in the bus-strap, and the other clasping on a pole. There were some free seats, but they were all directly next to other people, and he didn’t want to subject anyone else to his current state of being.

He shot a quiet thank-you at the bus driver as he got off, and heard her sniff before closing the doors and pulling away.

And then he was there.

 _Fifth floor, room 5005_.

There wasn’t a doorman, for which Brian was really grateful. The building was old, but it had a functional lift, which Brian found with relative ease. It didn’t even need a swipe card to activate.

Brian, however, was reaching his limit far earlier than he would like. As the lift doors opened, he stumbled over his feet, and crashed back onto his knees.

He stayed there for a moment, digging his nails into his palm and barely daring to breathe, but the urge to burst back into sobs passed. He looked around, taking in the carpeted hall, and the apartment doors lined up to his left.

 _5003, 5004, 5005_.

He’d found it.

Brian knew he should get back to his feet and walk over there. He was an adult, after all.

But. It was early. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. And he’d expended so much energy on the whole ‘adulting’ thing already.

With another quick check around the hall, Brian sighed, shook his head slightly, and just crawled.

When he finally got to the door, he collapsed against it, and let himself just sit for a minute. He ran a hand through his hair and used his free arm to push his legs around, until they were arranged semi-comfortably in front of him.

He didn’t let himself rest for too long though. If he did, he’d give himself time to think, and then he’d properly start panicking about everything. He pulled the two bits of wire out of his pocket, and, blinking through a minor surge of dizziness, he started in on the lock.

He’d barely got to the first pin, though, when the door swung open.

Brian and Adam Honeycutt stared at each other for a moment. Brian saw his own dumb shock mirrored on the gad’s face.

However, one of them was on NZT, and one was not. Adam jumped back, and went to slam the door in Brian’s face.

That was all Brian needed to snap out of it.

“NO, no, wait!” he pleaded, slamming his hands up against the door and pushing, “You know who I am? I didn’t kill Eli, I swear. I just want some NZT.”

“Go away, man,” came Adam’s voice.

“I was gonna steal it! But only so I can find Eli’s killer, promise!”

At this, Adam seemed to pause. Brian redoubled his efforts.

“Listen, I’m not like what they said on the news. I’m not a killer. But - I need help.” His voice cracked on the last word. A normal person would have missed it, but the man behind the door wasn't quite normal, at least, not at the moment.

The door opened a fraction more, and Adam’s eyes glanced out, running once over Brian’s prone form.

Brian knew what he was looking for. He watched as Adam’s eyes widened, as his mouth formed a small ‘oh’ shape. Then the gad stepped back, the door swinging open in his wake. Brian fell through, only half in an attempt to stop the door closing again.

“I believe you,” came Adam’s voice. Brian looked up, and saw a man, about Eli’s age, with black hair, combed neatly, and a well fitted suit.

“Brian, yeah,” Adam continued, “Eli talked about you all the time. But he never said you were a little.”

Brian couldn’t stop the flinch.

“I didn’t, exactly, tell him that,” he coughed out.

“But weren’t you guys friends for ages?”

“Yeah.”

Even on NZT, this answer seemed to stump Adam. He opened his mouth, looking ready to further question Brian’s statement, but he must have seen something in Brain’s face, because he closed it again.

“I can help,” he seemed to settle on, crouching down closer to Brian’s level, “I’ll get you a pill.”

Then Adam was hooking his arms under Brian’s, lifting him up out of the doorway and onto his feet. Brian bit back the urge to protest, and just let it happen.

It would have taken far longer on his own.

Brian put a hand out to stabilize himself against the wall, and Adam’s hands received, hovering in the air for a moment, and then dropping to his sides. There was something in his expression that Brian couldn’t quite place.

Whatever it was, Adam shook it off quickly.

“Just, find a place to sit or something. I’ll go get you a dose.”

Brian nodded, ignoring how the action made him dizzy, and then Adam was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to end where it did, but I got really bored of writing, and tried to find a semi-natural stopping point in what I had.
> 
> Aaaaah, I'm finding this pretty difficult. 
> 
> As usual, the dialogue and actions are taken pretty much word for word from the show. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I don't really have the energy to edit. I will go back and look at this chapter at some point, but not right now, sorry.
> 
> Love you guys.


	7. Chapter 7

It took a few moments, and some interesting maneuvering, but Brian managed to get himself into Adam’s living room.

Or maybe living ‘space’ was more accurate? This guy didn’t really have rooms so much as designated spaces.

It was all neatly lined up, every couch cushion perfectly mirroring one on the other side of the room.

Except…

Brian felt another wave of dizziness wash over him, and he doubled over, hand scrabbling for something to grab onto.

And. He got the trunk of the little fake tree, the one he’d been staring at a second ago.

It was taller than the other tree. Just by a few centimeters, but in a house this immaculate, that might just mean something.

Brian wiggled the trunk around a little, and something clinked.

He gave into his curiosity. With one hand on the cabinet behind him, Brian tugged at the tree until he could lift in cleanly from the pot.

And then the world screeched to a halt. Brian felt the blood drain from his face, and he fought to keep his footing.

Because, at the bottom of the pot, nestled amongst a few stacks of cash, was a small silver box with the letters E.W. inscribed on top.

Discarding the tree, Brian reached forward, grasping the little box.

And then a few things happened.

Brian heard a click behind him. He turned around, and there was Adam Honeycutt, standing in his bedroom doorway, silenced pistol aimed steadily at Brian’s head.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he heard the man mutter, and, in that moment of hesitation, Brian ducked down behind the cabinet.

A bullet hissed through the air, right through the space where Brian’s head had just been.

Adrenaline spiked through Brian, and he threw himself towards the front door, Eli’s little silver box grasped tightly in his hand.

A second bullet zipped passed, barely missing.

The third bullet, however, found its mark, clipping past Brian’s thigh.

Brian couldn’t bite back a yelp. He slammed his back into the wall, hoping it would give him some cover, and then brushed his fingers over the bullet wound.

They came away smeared in blood.

Brian heard Adam’s footsteps coming closer. With another whine of pain, he darted forward, getting through the front door and trying to pull it shut behind him.

On a normal day, Brian would struggle to outrun a gad. With a bullet wound-?

His eyes landed on a fire extinguisher, hanging against the opposite wall, and he lunged for it, pulling it from its brackets and shoving himself back against the wall next to Adam’s front door.

Adam edged out the door, and Brian brought the fire extinguisher down on his head with all the strength he could muster.

The gad crumpled, and Brian dropped the extinguisher, bolting for the fire escape.

That blow, while fairly powerful, wouldn’t keep Adam down for long.

Brain wasn’t sure how he got down the five stories. He half ran, half fell down the steps, drawing panicked breaths and using his injured leg far too much.

When he broke out into the street, Adam was hot on his heels again.

Brian got out around the corner, and managed to limp his way through the morning stragglers. He got himself to the fountain in the middle of the square, and he couldn’t find it within himself to go any further. 

He collapsed down hard, pain sliding sickeningly up his spine, settling into nausea in his stomach.

He looked up, and there was Adam, standing over him with veins throbbing in his neck.

Brian’s heart pattered rabbit quick in his chest, but he had to hope his plan had worked.

Adam couldn’t shoot him with the fifty or so witnesses in their vicinity.

Not that said witnesses were paying any attention to the little hunched under the looming gad. This was New York after all.

“You killed them!” was all Brian could really push out, his voice cracking horribly over the words.

Adam had the audacity to smile.

“Eli stole my research. He got what was coming for him. Besides I needed Eli and Jay’s NZT stash.”

“The police are gonna get you,” Brian bit out, and god, he was sounding younger by the minute. He brushed a hand over the bullet would, and another flare of pain shot through him. It didn’t help.

Adam’s mouth twisted in a mockery of sympathy.

“Awww, are they now? Would you like to call them? We can get them here right now, and you can explain all about how I shot a known felon and junkie who was breaking into my house.”

There were so many ways Brian wanted to respond to that, fifty different sentences smashing against the walls of his mind. But when he opened his mouth, only a garbled, wounded sound escaped.

He snapped his mouth closed as Adam chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“How old are you, even?” he asked, eyes trailing over Brian’s form. He smirked when his eyes reached Brian’s crotch.

He must have wet himself at some point during the chase.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Adam mused, seeming to take Brian’s lack of answer as a personal victory, “the way I see it, you’ll either bleed out from that wound, or the police will find you and lock you up. Or,” he continued, after a pause, “I find you and deal with you myself, away from any onlookers.”

He stared Brian dead in the eyes. Brian dropped his head after barely a moment, all too familiar pressure building in his chest.

With a final chuckle, Adam turned away, and was soon lost in the maze of surrounding buildings.

Brian pulled at his ‘borrowed’ coat, drawing it tighter around his shoulders, and bit down hard on the sleeve.

And people continued to walk past, determinedly oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks. Didn't mean to be so long with another update.
> 
> I really struggle with writing. It's a self esteem thing, I think. But I really want to try to deliver you folks a story here. Eh. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> Love to all of you. As usual this is taken literally blow by blow from the show. In fact, we're still on the first episode, cuz I'm a mega slow poke :)
> 
> Also, low key not edited again. One day...


	8. Chapter 8

Brian didn’t know how he managed to get back to the hotel. He didn’t think he had taken the bus again. They wouldn’t have let him on in his current state. And besides, he didn't have any money left.

Maybe he had walked?

However he did it, he was back at the same hotel. He’d picked a different bathroom, not wanting to think about the state the other one was in.

He got himself sat down on one of the stools this room had, and laid his forehead against the counter-top for a moment.

The adrenaline was nowhere near out of his system.

He’d snatched that lady’s phone when he’d run through the subway. Maybe now was the time to use it.

He’d memorised Rebecca’s number from a post-it he spotted in her house, and luckily, high-Brian had thought to save the number into the phone’s memory, speed dial 1.

It took Brian a few times to hit the key, but he managed it, and then it was ringing.

\---

Rebecca had just finished arranging Honeycutt’s section of the evidence board when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out.

Unknown number.

She stepped back, allowing Boyle full access to the board as she accepted the call.

“Hello?” she started, mind still half caught in the case.

There was silence over the line for a second, just long enough to pull Rebecca’s attention.

Then the person on the other end of the line burst into tears.

“Wha- who is this- Brian?”

Boyle’s head snapped up at that.

 _Finch?_ he mouthed, eyes bulging out of his head.

Rebecca nodded, motioning at the phone, and Boyle rushed from the conference room, hopefully to start tracing the call.

“Brian, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Rebecca tried.

The sobbing seemed to slow down for a second, but only a second.

She heard Brian gulp in a breath, but any words were lost in the next wave of tears.

The sound was hollow and tinny down the phone line. It hit Rebecca right in the chest.

“Brian,” she tried again, “just take a few breaths, okay?”

She tried to think of what Casey would say in this situation.

“You’re okay, Brian, you’re gonna be okay, promise,” and ooh boy, that was a slip right there. Losing a definite article? Not a good sign in a professional setting.

Rebecca took a breath of her own, but she couldn’t tune out the other little’s heart-wrenching noises.

She heard a tap on the glass, and she looked up. Boyle shot her a thumbs up, and she felt a little bit of tension drain from her shoulders.

“Brian, my partner’s got your location,” she said, trying to keep her tone soothing, “we’ll be there really soon. Just hang on, okay?”

“Nooooo,” Brian’s voice sounded, and then he was somehow sobbing harder.

“Brian? What’s wrong? Brian!”

The call disconnected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, know how my chapter's are getting shorter? How about one that hasn't even hit 500 words? Hjbkcfd sorry...
> 
> Love you guys!


	9. Chapter 9

Brian’s return to consciousness came in fits and starts. In between muddled dream sequences, he managed to snatch glimpses of his surroundings.

A light cutting into his eyes. An uncomfortable bed of some kind. Cuffs securing his wrists to cold metal.

A woman was standing over him, long hair tucked into a ponytail.

He must have made a noise, because she looked up from where she was working on his leg.

“I’m bandaging your knee,” she said, and maybe Brian responded. Maybe he didn’t.

The next time he came to, he was in a chair, the same woman now holding him steady.

Oh. Right.

Gotta sit up to stay in a chair.

Brian pried his eyes open, trying to focus his vision.

The woman’s blue shirt took up most of his sight, but from under her arm, he could see a man, sitting in a chair opposite him.

He looked familiar.

And, oh, he was speaking. Brian caught something about “research,” and “shots,” but it seemed his auditory processing ability had taken a sudden vacation.

The hands on his shoulders withdrew. He managed to hold himself up for a moment, eyes squeezed shut from the effort, but then he was doubling over in the chair, head hitting his knees, and, oh, that was what a floor felt like, right.

Hands were on him again, two sets this time, and a few tired sobs shook their way from his chest.

Time passed. One of the hands moved to his head, and it was smoothing back his hair in short, clinical strokes.

He couldn’t help but lean into it.

Something pressed against his mouth, and Brian opened it on instinct. He sucked on it, like he did with his thumb, and suddenly warm liquid was filling his mouth, sliding down his throat.

Brian’s world narrowed down.

The buzz of the fluorescent light, the concrete under his back. The touch of antiseptic in the air, it all faded further away from his grasp. Like static on a tv. Like rain on a dreary winter day, when there’s hot chocolate and a raggedy old blanket on hand.

Brian’s head tilted back into the hand stroking his hair. Some noise left his chest, but he didn’t catch it.

He drank.

It took too long to notice the bitter taste to the milk. By the time he did, the pill was already starting to take effect.

That fuzzy quality seeped away, and his eyes blinked themselves back into clarity; 144p, 260p, 720p, hyperfocus.

He used his renewed dexterity to bat the bottle away.

And then it started to register.

That was a genuine baby bottle. The kind that was purchasable at any generic little store. The kind that he’d never let himself get near.

And someone had been feeding it to him.

He pushed himself up, scrambling away from the person - no - people behind him.

He remembered them from earlier. The NZT made it easier to sift through the snap-shots of memory he'd managed to keep.

There was the woman. She was a nurse, navy blue scrubs clearly marking her profession. And the man, the familiar-

Senator Edward Morra, his brain supplied, flicking through all the photos it had stored.

That drew Brian to a halt, but only for a second.

He dove back into the last dozen minutes of memory, piecing them together through the regression haze:

_“Can you get him seated?” - Senator Morra’s voice. The man had already taken position in the further chair._

_“Probably,” the nurse’s reply. What was her name? Brian had heard Morra use it- Sipiwe, that’s it._

_“Good. I have a meeting to get to in half an hour, and I’d rather not postpone.”_

_Being moved from the bed, latching onto Sipiwe’s arm- no, skip that bit-_

_-on the chair. Being held up. Morra’s chair squeaking against the concrete as he leaned forward._

_“I’ve been tracking you for a while now, Brian. Ever since you pinged the FBI radar.”_

_The crinkle of a package, a single NZT pill refracting the light._

_“I give this to you, and you can prove your innocence.”_

_Leaning forward again._

_“But what will you do after that? Can you just go back to normal life after everything you’ve experienced?”_

_Here Sipiwe cut in._

_“I don’t know how much of this he’s understanding, sir. It looks like he’s in the infantile regressitory range.”_

_Brian’s hand had been curled in her sleeve, head falling forward, knocking against her shoulder- no-_

_“Yes, his file has him between zero and five years of age. Large margin for error, but from his behaviour I’d estimate around two years old.”_

_“Then there’s no way he’s-”_

_“He’ll be able to access the memories once we’ve given him the pill.”_

_“...okay.”_

_Morra had turned his attention back to Brian._

_“You’ve experienced the side effects by now. Regression is a common one for subs, though, I have to admit, yours is particularly impressive. You think it’s bad now? Well, it’s only gonna get worse. You might remember this moment as the last time you felt vaguely human.”_

_Sipiwe’s arms were starting to shake from the effort of holding him up._

_“However,” Morra continued, “it doesn’t have to be that way. I’ve taken a pill every day for the last four years, and my classification has barely impacted me at all.”_

_His classification? Oh, right._

_It had been a talking point on the news. A p-sub, potentially running for office. If Morra won, he’d be only the third sub to hold the oval office, and the first pet-sub President in American history._

_Morra’s eyes were piercing, the NZT giving them an unnatural shine._

_“It took millions of dollars in private research, but our bio-labs formulated this shot.”_

_Brian remembered catching a little of that part, even when he’d been under. The word ‘shot’ never failed to worry him. None of its definitions were comforting._

_Here, Morra’s voice softened. He reminded Brian of a shark, going in for the kill._

_“All you need to remember is that every so often, you take one of these shots, and you can have as much NZT as you want with no side effects. You can take back control of your life, throw off the shackles of biology.”_

_Then there was a sound. It was- Brian must have grunted, or something-_

_“Sir, I’m going to need to move him soon.”_

_Morra’s attention had stayed fixed on Brian._

_“This conversation stays here and now. Just remember, with this shot, you owe your loyalty to me. And if this conversation leaves this room, I will let you die more painfully and slowly than you can fathom.”_

_And that was when Sipiwe had released him, and he’d collapsed forward, and-_

Brian snapped himself back to the present, and took a moment to assess his physical state. His head and neck seemed fine - he hadn’t hurt them in his fall.

He was wearing clean clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. They fit well. 

He didn’t want to know where Morra had found them.

He shifted a little from his position, crouched about three feet away from the others, and noticed another, ghastly thing.

That was not one of the cheap diapers he owned.

Someone must have changed him.

Shame hit him in the gut, almost making him keel over again. He felt hot all over, and even with the NZT in his system, he couldn’t make himself meet Sipiwe’s eyes.

“I trust everything is in order?” Senator Morra asked, the barest hint of amusement in his tone.

“What do you want from me?” Brian asked. He unfolded himself from his crouched position, and pushed himself to his feet. Morra followed suit.

“Let’s just say, I need someone in a position that you will soon be qualified to fill.”

And that wasn’t obscure in the slightest.

“Have you collected your things, Sipiwe?” Morra asked, turning to the nurse who had been gathering together her bag, organising things on the metal gurney.

She nodded, cool gaze passing over Brian for a moment.

Morra turned back.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?” Brian retorted.

Morra considered him.

"Good answer." He glanced over his shoulder. "Sipiwe?”

The nurse nodded, and strode forwards, raising a startlingly large syringe.

Brian’s heart fluttered at the sight, but he’d examined his options already.

He needed to help his dad. He needed to prove his innocence. And to do those things, he needed the NZT that Senator Morra was offering.

He held his arm out. Sipiwe grabbed it, and, after a moment of hesitation, plunged the needle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boom boom badoom, chapter 9 is done.
> 
> I've been trying this thing of writing in comic sans?? Writeblr is going mad about how it makes you write quicker, but I haven't seen too many drastic changes yet. But I'll try for a bit longer before calling it a bust.
> 
> I'm aiming to write at least 300 words for this story every day, so that I can keep it coming for you folks.
> 
> I haven't managed to find any motivation to edit, tho. That'll be a problem for future me.
> 
> Happy Invasion Day to any fellow Aussies reading this! I went to a protest this morning, and I'm going out to watch the fireworks with my family this evening (cuz I'm white, I get to protest the celebration of brutality in the morning, and then participate in the celebration of that same brutality in the evening. Gotta love privilege).
> 
> Adios for now!


	10. Chapter 10

Rebecca stopped herself in the doorway to Naz’s office.

“You wanted to see me?”

Naz seemed distracted, eyes half fixed to the TV screen, half hazy. She started at Rebecca’s words, flicking the news off and turning to face her.

“Yes, yes, come it.” She reached for an unmarked file, sliding it across the desk as Rebecca took her seat.

“Finch’s CT scans came back,” she continued, “take a look.”

Rebecca flipped the file open. And stopped.

This was not the brain of an NZT user. Even if Brian had only taken the drug twice, there should be obvious irregularities in his neuron structure. But Brian’s brain looked completely healthy.

She looked up an Naz, and saw her own confusion mirrored in her boss’ expression.

“Finch seems to be immune to the side effects of taking NZT,” Naz said, “we don’t know how, but we certainly plan on learning.”

Rebecca bit her lip. “You’re planning on studying him, aren’t you?”

Naz leaned forward. Rebecca had seen that look before, usually when she or Boyle were about to do something stupid.

“If we can work out where Finch’s immunity comes from, we could reverse engineer it. Imagine the pay off!”

“Brian is a civilian!” Rebecca cut in, struggling to keep her voice civil, “we can’t just pluck him from his life and stick him in a lab in DC.”

Naz’s expression stayed about the same, but Rebecca noticed the corner of her lip twitching up slightly. Somehow, Rebecca was playing into Naz’s plan.

“Let’s keep him here, in the bureau,” she continued, “every time Brian takes NZT, he basically becomes the smartest person in the world. We can make him our resource.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Rebecca took a breath. Professional mode. “Let’s get rid of his criminal charges, and move him to the safe-house in Greenpoint. He can work with me. Let’s call him a consultant or something.”

She held her breath. Naz stared at her for a moment longer, and then a slow smile spread across her face.

“Brilliant idea, Agent Harris. I trust you’ll be taking the credit?” _And the fallout_ , she didn’t say, but Rebecca heard it anyway.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied.

“Good, then we’ve got some issues we need to discuss.” Naz sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. “As you, Boyle and I know, Finch is a listed l-sub. Now, there wouldn’t technically be a legal problem with him working here, the ERA takes care of that, but you can imagine the outcry if an infantile little was discovered to be working for the FBI?”

Rebecca held her tongue. “Yes,” she replied simply.

“Finch had himself listed as a gad on all his previous employment papers. Why not let him continue the facade?”

Rebecca bit her lip. If they went that route, both Brian and the other bureau employees would be a lot more comfortable. 

A part of her had hoped that Brian could get a new start here, have his classification out in the open, and be able to freely access the support he would need. She couldn’t imagine how continued secrecy would be good for him. But if that was what it took to get Naz on board-

“Okay, but can we have a carer on hand?" She asked. "Someone that is informed about his situation, and who can help in an emergency?”

Naz nodded. “Already addressed.” 

She held out another file. Rebecca took it, and flicked it open.

Four junior agents, all recent Quantico graduates, stared up at her from the page.

“We were planning on assigning him a carer while we were studying him in the DC labs,” Naz explained. “He’s going to need a bodyguard or two while he’s using NZT. Why don’t we just assign a few of the DC agents?”

Rebecca nodded, scanning over the four agents’ write-ups. Two were p-doms, agents Harry Ackermann, and Darryl Jones, and two were general doms, agents Jason Smith and Charley Huang.

G-doms weren’t natural caregivers, and successful g-dom to l-sub relationships weren't common, but Rebecca wasn’t trying to set Brian up with a long term caregiver. She was just trying to find someone that could pass in an emergency.

“Let’s go with Jones and Smith,” she decided, passing the file back to Naz.

Naz’s eyebrows raised. “Okay,” she said finally, and the words _your idea, your fallout_ were once again not spoken. “Why them? Smith isn’t even a p-dom.”

“Brian won’t like it if we sick two p-doms on him,” Rebecca explained. “He’ll figure out our angle soon enough, but this way it’s less, well-” She paused, trying to find the words. “-less humiliating.”

Naz nodded, then straightened the papers by giving the file two sharp taps on the desk.

Topic closed, then.

Rebecca got ready to stand up, but it seemed Naz wasn't completely done.

“What if side-effects start presenting?” her boss asked

 _Damn_. Rebecca blew out a breath. “Well, primary side effects include extreme pain, nausea, hallucinations, and eventually full psychosis. We should be able to catch it by then, and start tapering his dose-”

“I mean the secondary side effects, Rebecca,” Naz cut in. _Great_. She was going to have this conversation. “You’ve read the case files. There were only two subs involved in the original study.”

“Yes,” Rebecca agreed, and then she barreled on. “They both dropped straight into headspace when the symptoms started getting bad.”

“What if something like that happens in the office?” Naz asked, expression steely. “We wouldn’t be able to cover up Finch’s classification if he properly flipped out on us.”

Rebecca’s chest lurched at that, indignation slamming up against her professionalism. Some of it must have shown on her face, because Naz sighed, waving her off.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. I forget, sometimes, that you...” She gestured at Rebecca’s lanyard. “You’re far more mature than a lot of them.”

There were many ways Rebecca wanted to respond to that, but she took a moment to centre herself, keeping her eyes fixed on a spot of dust on Naz’s desk.

“Brian’s brain structure hasn’t changed at all,” she said, when she felt a little less like throwing her boss through a window, “so it’s unlikely he’ll suddenly start presenting symptoms now. Also, he’s been hiding his status for over a decade. He’s the best option for this role we could have been given.”

She knew how Naz wanted to respond. _No, he isn't. Any other classification would have been easier to deal with._.

But Naz must have sensed that the whole 'classification talk' was over.

“Alright,” she acquiesced, sitting back in her chair.“You’ve convinced me.”

Rebecca kept her grin carefully contained.

“I’ll go let Brian know,” she said, standing up. She gave Naz a small nod, and then turned towards the door.

“Agent Harris?”

She looked back. Naz kept her gaze for a moment, and then nodded.

“Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer monitor is shaking like nothing else omg it's killing me send help.
> 
> This chapter's kinda boring, honestly. It's just a little more world building. To those reading this who haven't watched the show, you missed a pretty neat bank heist somewhere in there. I didn't think I could write anything about it that would add to this, so eh. But I LOVE the bank bit in episode one.
> 
> As usual, writing is difficuuuuuuuult. gotta beat back that self deprecation with a flaming stick. This isn't anywhere near as well written as I like, but if I kept being a perfectionist, I'd never get anything done, would I? And how am I gonna get better at writing if I never write because I never think I'm good enough?
> 
> Yup, that was a confusing sentence right there.
> 
> Ah well. I'm gonna paste this chapter in now, before the flickering of my screen knocks me out. Adios for now!!
> 
> Edit: are we officially over 10,000 words? That's a fifth of a NaNoWriMo!!!


	11. Chapter 11

“No,” Brian said, and Rebecca’s brain screeched to a halt.

“No?” she echoed back.

Brian was hunkered down in a ratty blue sofa. Rebecca had visited his apartment during the manhunt. It was cluttered and stuffy, and Brian’s scruffy clothing matched it pretty accurately.

Rebecca was starting to wonder if the bags under his eyes were tattooed to his face.

Brian put his drink to the side, and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around himself. “Not until you get my dad a new liver. You do that, and I’ll do any job you want.”

“We don’t work like that,” Rebecca said. 

“Well start,” Brian replied. His voice was raspy, but Rebecca could see the tension running through him. “If you want me that bad, work it out. If you don’t, I’m not helping.”

“Brian, you’re out on bail. You’re an inch away from being placed in a mandated care facility.”

Brian shuddered, but it still didn't look like he was going to back down.

“I’ll do anything to save my dad,” was his response. And Rebecca got that. Because, yeah. She’d have gone through the humiliation of a mandated care facility three times over if it would have helped her dad.

She nodded, slowly, trying to parse out a plan. She had a contact in the transplant registry. Boyle and her had worked a fraud case that helped exonerate a junior pharmacy student, Jasmine Naifeh.

What Rebecca was asking wouldn’t exactly be legal, but… If it got them Brian...

“Can I use your front room?” Rebecca asked, standing up and patting her back pocket for her mobile phone. Brian’s eyes followed her.

“Why?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

“I’m not promising anything,” she started, holding up a finger as Brian’s eyes lit up, “but give me about twenty minutes, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Brian’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Yes, yeah, of course,” and there was a bit more life in his tone, “uh, you want anything? Water, or-”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Rebecca replied, holding out her hands to stop Brian standing up. “Just wait in here. I’ll let you know soon.”

Brian nodded, and Rebecca stepped out of the room, drawing the door closed behind her. Out of Brian’s view, she took a moment to collect herself.

This wouldn’t be the first time she’d bent the law to get something going her way. She did have a strong moral compass, which was a pretty well know stereotype for l-subs, but, luckily, her morals didn’t always strictly follow US law.

Better to just get this over with. Either Jasmine agreed, or she didn't.

She flicked through her contacts, taking a seat in Brian’s front room.

The other woman picked up on the third ring.

It took Rebecca a few moments to explain the situation, but Jasmine seemed quite alright with the request.

“Dennis J. Finch?” she checked. Rebecca heard keys clicking over the line as she confirmed.

“We’ve got about three unassigned livers at the moment. Would he be up for surgery tomorrow?”

Rebecca blinked at that. She hadn't thought Jasmine would find something so quickly.

“Yes, that would be fine,” she replied, hoping that Brian’s dad would be up for it.

“Alright, that’s set up!” and wow. That was far easier than Rebecca thought it could be.

“Thank you, Ms. Naifeh,” she said, hoping to cut the conversation off.

“No problem!” her contact replied, far too flippant for having just broken the law. “Hope it helps your case!”

Rebecca wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She tied the conversation up quickly, then terminated the call.

She re-entered Brian’s living room to the sound of strummed chords.

Brain hadn’t moved much from his hunched position on the couch, but he must have grabbed his guitar over at some point, because he was picking haphazardly at the strings. The guitar itself was jittering up and down, and Brian’s fingers were falling out of position for whatever chord he was currently attempting.

His gaze shot up as Rebecca took a seat across from him.

“It’s done,” she said. “He’s going into surgery tomorrow.”

It was like someone had cut the strings holding Brian up. He slumped forward with a whoosh of air. Rebecca managed to dart forward and grab his guitar, rescuing it from his slackening grip.

She put it to the side, giving Brian a few moments to process the news.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were glossy.

“Thank you,” he said, tone a little too reverent for Rebecca’s tastes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“It’s fine,” Rebecca replied. And it was. Sure, she could get into serious trouble if OPR ever investigated her. But. She really didn’t mind.

And then Brian buried his head in his hands and started sobbing.

Rebecca was a little more prepared for it this time, but the sounds Brian made still tugged at her heartstrings.

“Hey,” she murmured, leaning forward and putting a hand on Brian’s knee. “You’re okay. It’s over now.”

Brian cursed. He brought one hand down to cover his mouth, but the other stayed over his eyes.

“Can you go, please?” his voice came, wobbly and muffled.

A part of Rebecca wanted to comply, wanted to let Brian keep the facsimile of privacy.

But he was dropping. Hard.

“I can’t leave you like this, Brian,” she whispered, apologetic.

Brian groaned, but it was quickly cut off as more sobs wracked his frame.

Rebecca rounded the table separating them, and set herself down on Brian’s right. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him in, tugging him against her chest.

Brian stayed tense, but one of his hands came out to grip at the fabric of her shirt.

Rebecca rarely got this upset, but when she was sad, or scared… What would Casey do?

 _Movement_. Rebecca started rocking in her seat, tugging Brian with her. It took a couple of moments, but Brian’s posture started to relax.

He tucked his head into her shoulder, hand still clamped around his mouth, but it wasn’t doing much to stifle the noise.

Casey also liked music. Sometimes, before bed, he’d sing with her. She wasn’t much of a singer, but…

She started humming, under her breath, as she wrapped her arms tighter around him

She’d made her way through three songs by the time Brian started to calm down. And the end of the fourth one, his sobs were coming in fits and starts, but they sounded tired. He was a dead weight against her.

She eased him down, slowly, until his head was resting on her lap. Brian fussed at the change in position, his tears picking back up for a moment, but he let out a few shuddering breaths, and, with his thumb stuck in his mouth, he seemed to drift off.

Rebecca ran a hand through his hair. 

He didn’t have a dom. She knew this. And with his tenuous hold on his ‘big’ headspace, it was certain that he didn’t let himself be little very often at all. 

Rebecca was one of the best agents her department had, and she knew it. But she was out of her depth here.

What had made Brian this way? Why was he so adamant about avoiding his classification?

How could she even begin to help him? She was a little herself! This wasn’t her role.

But she was attached to Brian. Properly. She liked him. He’d held a gun on her, in her own home. But she liked him.

And Rebecca would do a great deal for the people she cared about.

In this exact moment? She couldn’t do much, but she could make sure Brian felt cared for.

So she stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am running a little dry on motivation here, fam. I'm sorry about that. I'm definitely gonna keep this going, but updates'll be slower to materialise.
> 
> I'm moving into college soon. That'll be interesting. I'm both excited and worried.
> 
> Once again, have NOT edited this chapter. Maybe I should start scouring for a beta reader? But who would I get to beta this... I've got a friend who also does age play stuff, but it's waaaay less that this. Like, one of the characters might have a toy or something, and then the story proceeds and normal. Eh. Would any of you folks be interested in betaing?
> 
> That's all I've got at the moment. Best wishes to you all, and adios for now!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the awesome ikindaneedahero for their mega cool world building. I hope I haven't broken anything! 😊👍


End file.
